


A Roll in the Hay

by Quicksilver_ink



Category: Suikoden III
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-29
Updated: 2013-11-29
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:10:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilver_ink/pseuds/Quicksilver_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hugo and Caesar have a moment of indiscretion during the Zexen-Grassland peace talks. Hopefully no one finds out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Roll in the Hay

“Well, I thought that went well so far,” Caesar Silverberg observed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he and Hugo walked away from the meeting room. He'd waited to say anything until the two of them were out of earshot of the other attendees of the peace talks.

 “If by 'well' you mean _boring,_ ” the young chief of the Karaya clan responded amiably. “I think the Zexen strategist used three words for every one that actually needed to be said. But I think he was like that even when we were all on the same side, so I guess it wasn't meant as an insult.”

 Caesar waved a hand. “He's a strategist _and_ a politico, what do you expect? Trust me, as a Silverberg I completely understand the impulse.”

 Hugo grinned at him. “Yeah, but you _restrain_ it, which is why you're _my_ strategist, and that dry fusspot is working with Chris.”

 Caesar pretended to be offended. “I thought I was your strategist because of my brilliance and my stunning good looks!”

 “Weell... the good looks help,” Hugo glanced at him sidelong, smirking. “As for the brilliance, you tell me. Which of you two is smarter at strategy? Obviously his captain isn't keeping _him_ around for something pretty to look at.”

 Caesar rolled his eyes. “Well, let's see. At seventeen, Salome was just a squire who'd read some books. At seventeen, _I_ was head strategist to combined Zexen and Grassland forces, possibly the largest army this part of the continent has seen outside of Harmonia. You tell me.” He didn't actually distain the older man that much, far from it – during the Fire Bringer campaign, he'd developed a healthy respect for the knight's strategic insight and experience. But there was honesty, and there was bragging to your boyfriend.

 “Okay, great, you're prettier and smarter. C'mon, I want to see the Zexen's horses,” Hugo grabbed his strategist/boyfriend by the wrist and tugged. “Please? I was good and didn't yawn once during anyone's speeches.”

 They went to the barn. Once they were inside, Caesar kept back from the large animals. He was not entirely home with horses. Oh, he was a passable rider, because a strategist had to be – to see the battlefield from several vantage points, or to escape with the army when things went wrong. But he wasn't up to Hugo's (very high) standards, definitely didn't share Hugo's interest, and the war-horses the Zexens favored – heavy enough to carry a knight in full plate – were frankly _huge._

 He watched Hugo for a while. His boyfriend was crooning softly to the large animals, stroking their noses when they let him, and looking sulky when they did not. Hugo _was_ nice to look at – especially his tanned, arms and chest – apparently the True Runes' immortality didn't stop muscle development along with aging, because Hugo was moving from gangly-limbed teenager to _solidly_ built young man.

 Caesar turned away, then, because getting all hot and bothered during a peace conference was _not_ particularly professional. Or wise – he needed his mind clear of distractions. He turned and faced the straw heaped in one empty stall, trying to think of boring things, like soap. And laundry. Come to think of it, last week had been laundry day in Karaya. He had helped a shirtless Hugo hang up the wet things, watched the young man's bare chest gleaming with drops of water in the sun... dammit, this line of thought was _not_ helping.

 And then he suddenly found himself crashing into that same pile of straw, a familiar weight pressing along his back.

 “Got you!” Hugo crowed softly in Caesar's ear, the heat of his breath warming Caesar all the way down his spine. When Caesar didn't move to dislodge him, he added in disappointed tones. “You're supposed to fight back. It's no fun this way.”

 The strategist kept his face buried in the straw, despite the discomfort. “Hugo. This is a bad idea,” he cautioned, because he was supposed to be the smart one in their relationship. “We're at a _peace conference_.” He wanted to add, _and the Zexens might find a way to use this against us if they knew_ , but Hugo cut him off with a smug retort.

 “The Duck Clan has a saying: Love comes before peace.”

 “How lovely for them,” Caesar retorted weakly. “Let me up please. I have straw going up my nose.”

 Hugo laughed silently. Caesar knew this, because even though he was face-down in the straw he could _feel_ the laugh through every place Hugo's body pressed down on his. Oh, this was _not_ fair.

 He struggled to turn around, which promptly turned into the wrestling match Hugo had wanted, and Caesar gave up resisting the mood. Grappling arms and struggling bodies soon gave way to hungry mouths and grasping hands.

 They'd gotten their shirts off and were fumbling with trousers when they heard a whistle, and an answering whinny from one of the horses. Hugo, a seasoned warrior, froze instantly; Caesar took a moment longer to stop moving.

 They hunkered down in the straw, trying to hold as still as possible, so that rustling wouldn't give them away. Ears straining, Caesar heard sounds he couldn't quite interpret – someone else was in the barn, that much he knew, but what they were doing escaped him.

 Hugo mouthed “Zexen” at him, then “just checking horse” a moment later. So one of the knights was visiting their mount? Well, bully for them. How about they go away now.

 More rustlings, possibly footsteps, but they didn't seem to be moving away and anyway, Hugo wasn't moving yet. Caesar took his cue from him and remained frozen, awkwardly-posed and shirtless in the straw, for what seemed like ages. Caesar glanced mournfully at his discarded shirt – the straw was _itchy_ against bare skin.

 Eventually, he felt Hugo's body relax; whoever it was had left.

 “They're gone,” Hugo whispered, and by unspoken agreement the two retrieved their shirts, dressed, and hurried from the barn.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Hugo was unusually quiet when he joined Caesar for breakfast in the room that was functioning as a dining area for the peace conference attendees. Covered bowls holding dishes suited to Zexen and Grasslander tastes were arrayed along the sideboard, along with fresh fruit and bread.

 “What's wrong?” Caesar asked after clearing his mouth of toast and jam. “Did we switch whose job it was to be unnecessarily cheerful in the morning? Because I'm not up to that until at least a second cup of coffee.”

 Hugo scowled. “No, I'm just thinking.” He picked up a spoon and started heaping a red mess of tomatoes, peppers, and poached eggs onto his toast. Caesar shuddered; the spicy Karayan dish was _not_ something his time with Hugo had taught him to enjoy.

 “'Bout what?” Caesar drawled.

 Hugo shrugged. “Eh, it's not important. Chris just stopped me on the way in and said something strange, that's all.” He shrugged. “Probably just trying to unsettle me before today's talks. As if I played the lottery. I know Martha rigs it.”

 “Huh.” Caesar scratched his head. Hugo had been approached by the Zexen captain and warned against playing the lottery that _everyone_ who had been part of the second Fire Bringer War knew was dodgy? Well, _that_ had Political Intrigue written all over it, although he'd have expected that sort of thing more from the Zexen strategist, or the Harmonian agent Nash. The Chris Lightfellow he'd come to know tended to favor blunt over elliptical.

Hugo took a large bite of his vibrant, horrible toast and chewed cheerfully. “Yeah, said she was speaking general-to-general, and told me to keep risky things behind closed doors.”

A horrible thought struck the strategist. “Hugo,” Caesar said slowly, hoping he was wrong. “Did she say risky, or did she say _risqu_ _é_?”

Hugo took a while to finish chewing. When his mouth was clear, he shrugged again. “I dunno, I didn't really pay attention. Is there a difference?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this, which I completely misread, was Suikoden III, Hugo and Sasarai, Risque.


End file.
